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CHAPTER SIXTEEN

W ell…I thought breathing wasn’t optional when Thatcher’s lips were so close to mine, but then he turned into our families’ estates, and yeah, I can’t draw in a full breath to save my ass. The long winding road up to the two ginormous houses has me clutching my thigh. I remember when I was younger and compound houses became a big thing all over social media. Everyone was oohing and aahing over them. Wanting to have their loved ones on the same property as them. Meanwhile, my parents owned one. For the same reason as everyone else, to have easy access to the people they wanted around. With our moms being best friends, it only made sense. They wanted Thatcher and me to live here with them, but a two-hour round-trip commute to the IceCats compound was too much for our early-twenties brains. We wanted to party, we wanted to live, so we got a little apartment by the IceCats compound for the two of us.

Our parents, though, bought a fuck-ton of land and built matching Gone with the Wind -style homes. When I reminded my Russian mother and her best friend that we weren’t in Georgia but South Carolina, they shushed me and told me to mind my own business.

Yes, in a very terrible Southern accent.

A little smile pulls at my lips. I’ve missed their crazy antics.

But as soon as we make our way down the road that leads to the homes of our parents, I gaze up at the buildings in awe, and my smile falls away. We’re here. They are massive, spectacular three-story homes that have been featured on Pinterest and many Instagrams.

Both houses are white, with terraces on the top two stories of each that you get to from the bedrooms. Black shutters adorn all the windows, of which there are an overabundance all over the houses. The bottom floors are for entertaining, the middles for the children, and the tops are for the queen and king.

Since I never moved in, the second floor of my parents’ home holds a library and an office for my dad. Ingrid does live on her floor, and his parents have a room for Thatcher whenever he’s home for the holidays or when he wants to stay. The roofs are burnt orange, with huge chimneys sprouting out of the front and back. One for the kitchen stove and one for the fireplace in the main suite. Huge circular driveways with massive fountains are at the front. Each house has ten bathrooms, eight bedrooms, and a movie theater. It’s so over the top it’s bananas, but it makes our parents happy.

As we come to the fork in the road, my eyes drift to where the driveways circle each home’s larger-than-life fountain. The Orlovs have a phoenix statue in theirs to signify that no matter how many times they are knocked down, they will rise from the ashes and crush their opponents.

We Hawkinses have woodland creatures playing along the different levels of the fountain, because they’re cute and because my dad won’t say no to my mother.

Mr. Orlov may be hard of hearing, but that guy has no problem signing and yelling no to his crazy wife.

Now, Ingrid… No one says no to Ingrid.

Fuck. We’re here.

This is real.

My heart speeds up as Thatcher takes the road to his family’s house. Apparently mine will be riding over in their golf cart to meet us. I begin to chew into my cheek as we come closer. I didn’t get a say when Thatcher came barreling back into my life, but this, coming to our parents’ homes, I’m stepping into the lion’s den. No, correction—the lionesses’ den because our mothers are top-tier badasses.

They are descendants of some part of the Imperial House of Russia and have been called printsessa for as long as I can remember. They are sharp as tacks and know immediately when something is up. I’m honestly surprised Thatcher found me before they did. Those two are craftier than the FBI.

And I’m coming home after over three years of silence.

I’m a dead chick walking, and damn it, I’m not even wearing nice shoes.

My mom will be so disappointed.

Thatcher pulls the car, the trailer sticking out behind it, into his spot in the garage, which is by Ingrid’s BMW. I can hardly see; my heart is pounding so hard as he leans back and sighs deeply. I look over to find him watching me, his brows tightly knitted. “Ready?”

“Nope.”

“I can tell,” he says, and I expect him to laugh, but he doesn’t. He draws in a breath before he asks, “I know the plan was to go in with Arwen, but maybe we shouldn’t.”

My wide gaze flicks to him, and I swear I feel my heart in my throat. “I can’t go in there alone.”

He shakes his head quickly. “No, I’d never do that to you,” he says softly, and damn it, his words light me up. They soothe the terrified parts of my brain, and when his hand covers mine on my thigh, I find myself desperate for his touch. Despite knowing that it’s not a good idea to hold the hand of your baby daddy, I wrap my fingers tightly around his. “I was going to suggest I call Ingrid, have her come out and sit with Arwen since she’s napping.” I glance back just as he says that, finding my daughter knocked the hell out. Lucky duck. I wonder if I can act like I’m sleeping? “Then once we get through the where have you beens , and OMG, why did you leave us , and OMG, we missed you , we can have Ingrid bring her in. And surprise, Baba and Dede!” He does jazz hands like Arwen, and all I can do is gawk at him.

“Do you truly believe it’ll be that easy?”

He shrugs. “Not at all, but if I manifest it, it will be.”

I blink. “Let your therapist know that daily affirmation app is working swell for you.”

He snorts. “Swell.”

God, he’s a child.

I close my eyes and draw a deep breath in through my nose. “Fine, call Ingrid. God, she’s going to cuss me out in words and sign.”

He chuckles. “Probably.”

Not even five minutes later, the door into the garage opens, and Ingrid is flying through it. Ingrid has always been the most gorgeous girl I’ve ever seen. She has porcelain-white skin, a dark black mane that goes to her bottom, and the sweetest brown eyes that are so round and framed with such soft, pretty lashes. I swear they don’t clump or take away from her eyes. They add to them, making them brighter. She’s very petite, small shoulders, a tiny waist, and short little legs.

And one look at her has tears pouring out of my eyes.

I jump out of the car, meeting her halfway as we collide in a tangle of limbs. She buries her face in my neck as I hold her tight, pressing my nose into her hair as a sob racks my body. God, I’ve missed her. While Thatcher was my best friend, Ingrid is a part of my soul. We have almost a ten-year age gap, but that doesn’t change the connection between us. I kiss her ear since it’s the closest to me, and I notice her ear gear is blue, when usually it’s bright pink or purple. I pull back, grasping her cheeks in my hand as I meet her eyes that are gushing with tears. She hasn’t changed a bit. Even though her features are dark, everything is so bright in her eyes. I wait for the anger to settle in her eyes, or the hate, but all I see is irrevocable love.

“I’m so sorry,” I tell her, tucking her hair behind her ears. “I have missed you so much.”

She lifts her hands so that her fingers are in my face, and I don’t have to remove mine from her. She signs as she says, “I can’t believe you left me like that. I have been lost without you and have written you almost every day.”

She uses her fingers to wipe my face free of tears, and I lean into her left palm. “I will read them all and write you back.”

At that, we both smile. She bounces on her toes, her grin as unstoppable as her tears. “You’re really home.”

“I’m home,” I say, and then we embrace once more. I feel her body shake with her sobs and mine come harder, so I try to hold us closer to stop us from shaking. It doesn’t work.

She pulls back once more. Her brows scrunch together. “Not a fan of your hair.”

I let out a belly laugh. “I figured you wouldn’t be. You’ve always loved my hair.”

She kisses my cheek in a low, smacking kiss. “Because it was beautiful! Hopefully Mom has someone to fix that.” We share a smile because we both know between my mom and hers, someone will have a stylist who can bring back my strawberry-blond. Her smile fades quickly, and a scowl fills her features as she points at me before using her hands to sign. “And oh my goodness, Arwen? How did you have a baby without me and not name her after me?”

I snort, leaning my head into hers. “It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but having her wasn’t as bad.”

Our laughter mingles again as her eyes search mine. “I’m an aunt.”

Oh, I love her sweet voice. I cup her jaw. “You are, and she is just like you. So smart, so dazzling, and you would have been proud of how quickly she learned to sign.”

“Because she is badass like me.”

“That’s what I told her.”

Ingrid beams before threading our fingers together like we did when we were younger. She signs toward the car, and I nod, following her to where my baby is sleeping. I open the back door, and she scoots in. She ignores her brother as she leans over to see Arwen. She doesn’t talk this time as she signs, She is stunning. So beautiful.

She is, I answer back. So smart.

I can’t wait to love her.

I can’t either, I admit, and then I have to wipe away a tear at the sight I’ve craved for so long. Ingrid with her niece. She gently runs a finger along Arwen’s cheek and sighs sweetly. Ingrid gives me a smile over her shoulder before she signs, Well, go on. They don’t know you are here, neither of you, yet. So, you’ll have the element of surprise.

I scoff at that. Surprise.

Maybe that will be the emotion I am greeted with, instead of all the others that terrify me to my core.